After the Storm
by lissvarna
Summary: Peeta and Katniss, growing back together. The way Mockingjay should have ended.


I glance at the clock, puzzled. Peeta's not here. Maybe he's not coming tonight, I think regretfully. The thought of faking a nightmare before I drift off waves through my mind, and I dismiss it, embarrassed for myself.

It began with nightmares, though. Nearly every night I'd wake Peeta up with my screaming, sobbing, pleading—with Snow, with Coin, begging my mother to take care of Prim. The possibilities for terror while I slept were endless.

He'd let himself in, quietly, take off his boots, and kneel beside my bed and wake me up slowly, so as not to startle me more. He could calm me down before I even came to and then there he was, with his loving face and concerned eyes. I'd pull him into bed with me and, often without a word, he'd wrap his arms around me and rub my back as I drifted off. The nightmares didn't totally dissipate with Peeta there, but they were much, much less terrifying.

After a couple months of this, I asked one day for him to come over early, and fall and stay asleep with me, rather than waiting for the nightmares to come. It had reached a point where I avoided sleep; avoided the heaviness of my eyelids and the urge to curl up cozy by the fire and drift off. After a few days of this, I was losing my mind: I needed to sleep. So sure enough, I asked Peeta showed up most nights, there to rub my back to sleep. I thought this would help, and it did.

Today was a night he didn't show. My pride told me _no- I will not go get him_. I roll my eyes at myself: Outrageously, I am irritated at him for not devoting yet another night to seeing that I get a good eight hours of sleep. I wince at my own ungratefulness. Yet I can't get my mind to stop wondering why he's not here?

_There's one thing it could be, _I think, and blush to myself. I've become accustomed to the warmth and comfort I feel all wrapped up in him. I usually tuck a hand behind his head, place another firmly over his chest, press into him and wrap my legs around his body. No longer was his presence enough; a deepening need called for more, to be closer to him. For the last few weeks, this is how we slept—all wrapped up in one another. Nothing more, nothing less.

But what changed were not only my feelings of happiness, comfort, and security. I was suddenly very aware of the physical reaction Peeta had to me. At first I was alarmed when my thigh grazed his long, thick shaft. But my reaction was to pretend I didn't notice and quickly adjusted my leg. But since then, my awareness has not faded. In the middle of the night when I think he's asleep, I find myself purposely moving to be near his erection, excited by the thought of it.

Still, I do not kiss him, I do not touch him. I take and offer nothing but comfort, friendship, and security. There is a growing worry in the pit of my stomach that it is no longer enough for him. But what intensifies that knot in my stomach is that it might not be enough for me, either.

I push these thoughts aside and decide to go to Peeta's. I change into my nightgown, leave a bowl of cheese and squirrel for Buttercup and slip through the front door.

I walk passed Victors Village, ignoring the houses besides Peeta's and mine. I still don't care for living here, but I've acquiesced to the fact that it's a better situation than going back to my old home in the seam. Quietly, I let myself in, and turn the corner to find Peeta sitting by the fire, reading.

He looks at me and offers a sleepy smile. "Hi."

"Hi." I respond, all of the sudden shy.

"You ok?"

"Yeah. I haven't slept yet… and you didn't come. Can I stay here?" I inquire.

"Yes, of course you can," He says, without skipping a beat.

I sit down next to him, taking in the warmth of the fire. "What are you reading?"

"It's called The Sun Also Rises, by an ancient writer called Hemingway. He was pretty popular back then. Anyway, it's about a bunch of friends, hanging out in a country that used to exist called Spain. Drinking a lot. Haymitch would approve," he smiles.

I laugh. "He'd eat it… I mean drink it up."

Peeta laughs in response. "Yeah, so, the main character, Jake, is in love with this girl, Brett. But he lost his… "manhood" in a war, and so they can't be together. But Brett is loved by many men, and tires of them all eventually. She thinks she loves him too, but she'll never know for sure. The thing that I like, is that they both have the idea of one another, you know? They'll never really know anything but that idea of what could be. But maybe a 'what could be' that can never be taken away is better than a reality that can be stolen from you," he explains.

I pause for a moment, to think about this. He has a point. Our losses are so profound, we especially can relate.

"Peeta," I say. "Do you think that's how you felt about me? That the idea of me, before the games when you gave me the bread, was better than I was?"

I'm shocked by the confession of my own words. I'm so comfortable by the fire, so relaxed, that they just spill out. Our shoulders are touching and I'm interested, so interested in this book and this idea. I'm worried I realized. So worried I've disappointed him.

He seems surprised by my question too, but his face easily transforms into a gentle sentiment of love. "Katniss… You know, I did have an idea of you. When I liked you in school, when I watched you move quietly though the hallways. Your braids, your voice, the bread. I didn't know you, and so like you're saying, I did have an idea of you in my head," he says.

The tears well up again, and I wonder why I asked this, why I even care. I'm so lucky to have my friend back, recovered from the terror imposed on him in the Capitol. Why am I compromising that?

"But, no. It's not like the book, because you were so much better than I ever could have imagined you." He looks straight ahead, into the fire when he says this. There is no elaboration for dramatic purposes in his eyes, no exaggeration to his voice. Just loving fact.

I know he means what he says and I instinctively nuzzle into the space on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around me, almost too platonically. I've expressed no romantic feelings for him in the past few months, a fact I've recently begun to admit. It's almost a business transaction, the way we sleep nuzzled together each night, the way he comes over around the same time every night. The way we each talk and talk about whatever is on our mind until we drift asleep. Almost business, except for the plethora of warmth and openness.

"I missed you tonight, Peeta. I really didn't want to sleep without you," I admit.

He suddenly looks guilty. "I'm sorry I didn't come over. I just… I guess I needed… a break," He says this so tentatively, I think he regrets his words. I think he's waiting for me to ask what he needed a break from, to act completely oblivious about his physical and emotional responses to spending every night with me. But I don't, because I know what he means.

"It's ok. Do you mind if I stay, though?" I smile.

"Of course not. Ready for bed?"

I tell him wait a few minutes, because I want to enjoy the warmth of the fire and of his arm in juxtaposition for a little bit. And I want to talk. I tell him about hunting today; slow, until a buck appeared that I later hauled into town. He says next time let him help me, and I roll my eyes with a smile. I tell him about running into Delly at the hob. About how Buttercup is looking better, his stupid face filling out again. And how much he reminds me of Prim. How after all, I'm glad I didn't drown him, which Peeta laughs about.

At the mention of Prim he tightens his grip around me. I think for a second that he's going to bring her up, and I desperately don't want him to. But he doesn't. I think he knows this part of the day is my happy time. The time I can talk, and laugh, and sleep somewhat well. Where I can mention Prim without having a complete emotional break down. The rest of the day, besides when I'm in the woods, I cry, grieve and suffer. But with him I can be like my old self.

I'm suddenly so happy I came over, so relieved he's here back in District 12 with me. I impulsively kiss him on his cheek, and then his lips. It's a slight kiss but he freezes with pleasure. It's a kiss to thank him for breaking up the bleakness. For making my life worth living.

"Ready?" He whispers. He takes my hand and leads me to bed.

Even though the kiss was hardly anything and lasted for just a second, and even though we've kissed, dozens of times, and more intensly even, my thoughts shift after it happens. I can't help but watch Peeta take off his shirt, savoring the moments before he slips a plain white tee to sleep in on. I watch the broadness of his shoulders taper off to his strong waist. I can't wait to be wrapped up in him.

He turns off the light, brushes a kiss in my hair and says goodnight. I reply accordingly.

But I'm laying there for what seems like an eternity and I can't sleep. Normally this would be because I'd be frozen in fear about having a nightmare, or just worrying, worrying, worrying, about what was to come. Even though life has been so calm for the last few months, it's hard to realize war and fighting and death are over.

But no, tonight I'm not thinking of any of those things. I'm anxious at the night slipping away—even though I know Peeta would have me any night, every night. I look up at him and try to figure out if he's sleeping. I want more of him.

I lose my resolve and lay right on top of him, waking him with a kiss on the lips. He looks confused, but happily so. He kisses me back eagerly and I wonder if he didn't want the night to end without more either.

His arms come up around my back, stroking it gently, back and forth, back and forth. We kiss sweetly like this for a long time. Small kisses, over and over. I caress his face, full of blonde stubble, and rub my own against it. This makes him smile so sweetly that I suddenly want him feverishly. It's so gentle and loving, every touch, and increasingly erotic.

I kiss him harder. He hesitates at first, still responding softly. After a few minutes he relents and returns my deep kisses, cupping my face and slipping his hand under my nightgown on my bare back, gripping tightly. I press against him. Under his pants his erection seems bigger than I've ever seen it before.

Every move, every touch beings with softness from Peeta. His eyes say he wants me, wants this, badly. But his touches say he doesn't want to cross any boundaries, doesn't want to move too fast for my liking or do anything that would end this wonderful, precious, much anticipated moment.

I sit up and take his shirt off. He blushes. "Katniss…" with a small smile. I slide down and plant kisses all over his neck and chest, grazing his nipples. He moans softly and strokes my hair. I take off my own nightgown, and there I am, bra and underwear only. I've never been this exposed, been in a position so sensual. So sexual.

He gasps, and I don't think it's on purpose. He strokes the sides of my arms and takes me in. His face is beaming; his eyes, the way his lips are parted and in a slight smile, the intensity in which he gazes at me. "You are so beautiful," he says.

Suddenly I'm blushing and very self-aware. I lay down back on top of him, except this time we are skin on skin. It's amazing. His smooth stomach and arms on mine, cradling me and protecting me. He's starting to have a hard time hiding how badly he wants all of this, and his grip almost becomes possessive. I like it.

After I've absorbed everything about this skin-on-skin perfection I bring his hands back to unhook my bra. "You sure?" He says, but his question has a playful edge. He knows neither of us would turn back now.

He moans as he takes in my breasts and immediately cups and kisses them showering them with attention. I'm smiling and thinking I've never seen Peeta so excited about anything. But it's the same weakness he's always had… Me.

We kiss again for awhile and each kiss feels like a thank-you to the other, for this moment and this closeness. I pull the blanket firmly over us and cuddle into him, kissing his neck. He's stroking me all over, sending tingles to every point of my body.

"Peeta," I say, in a voice like I'm talking to my old friend, not my current lover.

"Yeah?" He answers me the same way, and I love the familiarity.

"Take off the rest of your clothes. The rest of mine, too."

I can tell by the look on his face that this was not what he was expecting. He grins and I love bringing this joy, this pleasure to his face.

We're totally naked now. I hear Peeta panting, softly. His erection presses against me involuntarily. I feel him start to pull it away, but he stops and leaves it against my leg.

"I love you. I love you so much," he suddenly says to me, overcome.

My response is to kiss him so passionately and deeply that I hope he'll know how I'm responding. I want to say it back. I want to say 'I love you, too', the simplest of phrases, but it catches and stalls on my tongue. So I kiss and kiss him instead.

And then, I position him on top of me correctly. I pull his erection toward my opening, which is now dripping wet and searing with sensitivity.

I want him now. I want him because I am 18 and my hormones tell me so. I want him because he is the only person I've ever known who really understands me. And yet, he's not similar to me, not like Gale was. He's gentle, thoughtful, a thinker, a giver. There's a ying and yang about Peeta and I that has existed between us since that first ride to the Capitol after the reaping.

And most of all, at this moment I want him because I feel like I can heal us both. Right here, right now, I want this as a symbol of togetherness. As a symbol that we're moving forward, and although we can never go back, we both will take everyone we love into the future with us. I want it to remind us that life can be good again. I want it to than the boy with the bread for everything he's ever done for me, for the exquisite way in which he has loved me, unconditionally.

His face is at first, surprised. And then it is searing with lust, anticipation. And then understanding. As always, he knows what I'm feeling.

"Katniss…" he trails off, moaning as he enters me. I wince.

He stops abruptly. When he sees me open my mouth to protest he says, "I can't. I can't hurt you." His resolve is strong.

"Peeta," I start. "You have never hurt me. You never would. I've never wanted anything the way I want to feel you inside of me. We've been through so much. We're already one person, you and I. I want to feel it with you now. Please, don't take this moment away from me."

"I won't."

He kisses me and enters me again, even more slowly this time. It still hurts a little, but less. My absorption in his mouth seems to dull the pain. And then there he is, buried deep inside of me. He moans, softly, and hugs me closer.

We move in sync, very slowly, trying to find our bearings, both wanting it to be perfect for the other. When I rub my face on the scruffy cheek, I feel wetness. A tear.

"You're crying," I say. "Why?"

"For you. For everything," Peeta responds.

Even though he's so vague, I feel like I somehow know what he means. I kiss every tear and stroke his back, moving just slightly with him. We do this for awhile, and it drives away his happy tears. Replaced again with lust that's written all over his face. Peeta is moaning, very softly, over and over again. He's stroking my hair, kissing me, loving me everywhere. "Peeta," I moan in appreciation. "You feel so good."

His tempo picks up and he's moving faster inside of me. I wrap my legs around his back, because I want him deeper, closer to me. I love the way he feels, like my body is his home, like he's always belonged there. I savor every movement.

Breathlessly, he says "Katniss, I…" I smile at his shyness. "I can't go much longer. It's too perfect,"

"Go ahead, Peeta," I whisper, "I want to make you feel good. Feel everything. Go ahead," there's a lust in my voice now, too. The terrifying thought of pregnancy flashes in my mind. But this perfect moment with him simply overrides it.

He shudders and his light moans intensify. I feel him release inside of me and collapse on my body. I'm caressing him, holding him tightly. I want to make all of his good feelings last. I finally feel like I've comforted him and I'm so grateful for that.

I want to talk, I want to find the words to tell him what I'm feeling, but he drifts off to sleep right after. I'm up most of the night. This time, I can't sleep because of my happiness, not my terror.

When I wake up, his blue eyes are looking into mine. I've seen Peeta look at me with life hundreds of times. But I don't think I've ever seen a more loving expression, somehow, than I do right now. He beams with love.

"Creepy…" I say, joking at waking up with him staring at me.

He gives an honest laugh, and I'm glad I didn't offend him with my joke. "Sorry," he grins.

I'm too far from him so I fix that and nuzzle into his chest.

"I have to ask you something. Something I think happened over these couple years, but I'm not sure of. You know… the hijacking," He says, but his voice is less serious than it normally is when he's talking about the Capitol brainwashing him.

"Okay," I say.

Now his expression is serious again. He takes a deep breath.

"You love me. Real or not real?" He asks.

I can find no other words, and I suspect he doesn't need any more from me.

"Real," I say. "Real."


End file.
